


like a cheshire cat, you are just a grin

by orphan_account



Category: Yogscast
Genre: Angst, M/M, Teencast, slight shipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:24:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rythian has scars on his face and a chip on his shoulder and he hates Lalna more than he can breathe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a cheshire cat, you are just a grin

No one meets his eyes, when he gets back to school. He’s not stupid. He knows why.

It’s like there’s a ticking in his brain all the time, a ticking in the back of his mind, a little itching whisper that speaks to him at all times. It says: people are looking at you. They are looking and there is pity in their eyes, and that is disgusting. It makes him feel disgusting.

Acid’s not kept in the science room cupboards anymore.

Rythian sits next to his locker, wearing his heavy coat, and he runs his fingers across the part of his face hidden under endless scarves and bandannas and high collars. He touches the ruined rivers and valleys of his lips and cheeks and chin, fingers sliding underneath a thick scarf the color of nighttime. His scars are slicker than the rest of his skin and they don’t feel like a part of him, feel like they belong to someone else.

It’s been a month since he was last at school, and no teacher complains when he comes in late. It’s spooky, how no one talks to him. He’s never been popular but now he’s a ghost in the back of the classroom, an ugly specter with a messed-up face. He comes in late to every class, spends the in-between time in the bathroom, draws in his notebook instead of paying attention. He draws characters from an old dungeons and dragons game, draws himself as a gaunt, otherworldly man with a long cloak and flashing purple eyes. He’s halfway through drawing Lalna, the mad scientist with a scrubby beard, before he realizes what he’s doing.

He hates Lalna so much he can barely breathe for it. He hates Lalna so much that he would kill him in a second, if he could. He wants to strangle Lalna with his bare hands. Lalna doesn’t look at him in class, for a long time. Lalna sits in front of him and Rythian stares at the back of his greasy head and thinks I hate you I hate you I HATE YOU.  
Lalna doesn’t turn around.

He’s been banned from science class, Rythian knows. Sjin, too. They almost got expelled, but Sjin’s dad is a business tycoon of some sort, and so they survive with reduced privileges. Sjin is bad, but he’s not, not… an instigator. He hates Sjin, but he doesn’t hate Sjin like he hates Lalna.

He scribbles out his drawing of Lalna, the scientist, and draws himself eviscerating Lalna, the person, instead. Hanging. Drowning. Burning. There’s a buzzing in his ears and he’s hunched over his notebook and no teacher will ever call on him again. He draws himself covered in Lalna’s blood, he draws himself laughing. He draws his own face clean and whole, restored by revenge. He scribbles out those last drawings, too.

Sometimes, at night, he can’t sleep. His face itches at night and he touches the mess they made. He’s hideous, he thinks, something out of a horror story. His mouth is a jagged snaggled line and he can’t look in mirrors anymore. He brushes his hair back with his eyes closed, washes his face without looking up. Rythian tosses and turns at night and cries, sometimes, eyes squeezed painfully tight. Crying does not come easy. Each sob rips itself from him, leaves his throat stinging and his body sore.

Rythian spends math drawing Lalna getting shot. He spends english drawing Lalna getting electrocuted. He doesn’t go to science class.

  
—

  
Lalna finds him in the parking lot. It’s the first time they’ve looked at each other in a week, and Rythian’s cutting science, again— it’s so cold that there’s no one out, and his bandanna is lowered, a little. He raises it, hurriedly, as he sees Lalna walking towards him.

There’s nothing in the parking lot except the cars of busy teachers and two teenage boys, and Rythian rolls his hands into fists. Lalna’s wearing a t-shirt in the dead of winter, some electronica band Rythian’s never heard of and would probably hate. Lalna’s smiling, and his hands are raised and empty, a sigh of peace.

“Go away before I kill you,” Rythian says, as soon as Lalna gets into earshot. Lalna has lank blond hair and blue eyes and he’s shorter than Rythian, but definitely weighs more.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Lalna says, and laughs. “I just wanted to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Lalna,” Rythian says, and he swings around to face Lalna fully. He’s almost a foot taller than him, he could take him on, for sure. Lalna’s all baby fat, and Rythian may be wiry, but there’s muscle in there, too. “You betrayed me.”

“We’re not roleplaying,” says Lalna, wrinkling his snubbed nose. He drops his hands, puts them at his hips.

“You betrayed me,” Rythian repeats, stepping over a patch of gum and jabbing his finger towards Lalna’s chest. What he means is, you hurt me. You hurt me. They were never friends, not even before the accident, but now Lalna is nothing more than Rythian’s mortal enemy.

“Let me see,” Lalna says, and Rythian’s brain crashes off it’s train of thought entirely.

“What?” He asks, hand rising to touch his bandanna protectively. “What? No.”

“Let me see your bloody face,” Lalna says, and there’s a change in his tone that Rythian can’t name the cause of. He’s not smiling anymore. “I can feel you looking at me in class, you know.”

“I’m thinking about killing you,” Rythian answers, still horrified at Lalna’s request. “I’m not letting you see anything.” 

Lalna’s skin is smooth and cream-colored and unmarked, save for a few blemishes. Rythian wants to inflict his pain back tenfold. He wants to make it so Lalna can never step outside again.  
And Lalna takes a step forward, and another one, and before Rythian can stop him he’s got a hand around his bandanna and he’s tugging, hard. Rythian shoves at him blindly and he can feel the knot in the back loosen and the whole thing slips halfway down and he thinks no, no, not in front of Lalna, but it’s too late.

Lalna stumbles back and almost lands on his ass, but manages to catch himself at the last moment. His eyes go wider as Rythian claps his hands over his face, desperate, but he knows Lalna has seen enough. He hates him so much that it burns him, it physically burns him, his heart feels like it’s on fire.

“Jesus,” Lalna says.

“I hate you,” Rythian says, voice low and desperate, heart pounding. He doesn’t know what to do. If he socks Lalna, he’ll reveal his face all the way.

“We fucked up—” Lalna says, and that’s what gets Rythian to move. He can hear pity in Lalna’s voice, the beginnings of it, of remorse, and it makes him sick to his stomach enough to dart forward and punch him across the face. He’s furious and ill and Lalna’s voice was sad, genuinely sad, and that thought is driving him insane. He doesn’t care, for the moment, that his mask has fallen around his throat, no longer hiding the mess underneath.

This time Lalna does fall on his ass, shock in his blue eyes, hand flying up to touch his nose. Blood is already trickling down his chin.

“Fuck OFF!” Rythian yells, voice half-hysterical, and he jumps on him, launching himself across the asphalt to land on Lalna square. He whacks his knee into the other boy’s soft stomach and feels satisfied at the resounding “oof!” that Lalna makes, driving the breath out of him. He hits Lalna across the face, again, fist colliding with his cheek, and a red mark comes up immediately.  
That knocks Lalna out of his surprise and he slams his head into Rythian’s, a dizzying collide that leaves Rythian momentarily dazed. He can barely think for the bright sparks in front of his eyes, and Lalna manages to flip him over, sitting on his chest.

The ground is freezing, Rythian thinks, stupidly, and tries to struggle as Lalna leans over him. His second thought is that Lalna needs to lose some weight, because he can’t move, and Lalna’s legs are pinning his arms down.

He feels naked, bare, and his face itches maddeningly as Lalna looks at it all.

“Get off,” he grunts, winded.

“It’s not pretty,” Lalna says, and then his fingers are reaching towards Rythian’s face. Rythian’s eyes widen and he struggles, again, but he goes nowhere.

Lalna touches him gently as feathers. His fingers skim the scar that cuts Rythian’s mouth at the corner, tug his lips open a little. Rythian tries to bite his fingers, but Lalna grabs his jaw with his free hand and forces it closed.

He’s going to kill Lalna, the stupid scientist. He’s going to hurt him in ways that are unimaginable.

He continues touching, fingertips brushing over a scar that trails his chin, then rubbing a little, as if memorizing the texture. Rythian closes his eyes, because it’s better if he can’t see him, pretend that it’s someone else touching him, maybe Zoey. Lalna’s fingers are gentle as anything. If it was Zoey, it would be something respectful, between them, something full of love. But this is not full of love.

“How many people have seen this?” Lalna wonders, tracing a scar that cuts across his jawbone with his thumb. Rythian’s not going to tell him, but it’s just his parents and the doctors. When Zoey came to visit, he made sure to cover his face.

He didn’t want to scare her. But Lalna’s not scared, just interested.

“Not many, I’ll bet,” Lalna continues, and his eyes go a little distant while he thinks. “Maybe just me and a few other pe—”

He’s cut off as Rythian shoves up, up, and rolls Lalna off of him, taking advantage of his loose state. His breath is coming in little pants and he feels violated, stripped raw. He manages to hit Lalna in the chest, hard, hurting his hand in the process, and Lalna coughs, stunned.

“You’re dead!” Rythian shrieks, and he’s on Lalna like lightning, hands tightening around his throat. He can hear a low buzzing in his ears and his head is pounding and there’s something in the background, something loud. He can barely recognize it, he’s so far away, but—

“School bell,” Lalna croaks, grinning, and the doors leading into the parking lot begin shoving out with classmates. Rythian’s torn, torn between choking the life out of Lalna and cloaking himself, but as the first sullen teenager spills out he decides on the second one, shoving himself away and scrambling for his bandanna. He ties it around his face in a few swift movements.  
Lalna lies on the ground a moment more, wheezing for breath, and then slowly gets up. His nose is still a little bloody, and he wipes it with the back of his hand.

“Next time,” Rythian says, “I won’t stop.” He gives Lalna his best glare. His head is still pounding, forming into a proper migraine. Some of the fury has leaked out of him, a little.

“Yeah,” Lalna says, and it becomes obvious that some of the fury has leaked out of him, too. “Look, I—”

“Shut up,” Rythian grinds out, because he thinks he knows what’s coming, and he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t need to hear it.

Lalna smiles. “I don’t think you’ve changed, really.”

Rythian leaves him there, turning on his heel and walking for the exit. He leaves Lalna alone in the school parking lot, the taste of blood in his mouth. He can’t stop shaking.

It’s a short walk home, and his mind is swirling the entire way. His parents aren’t there, not yet, and he heads up to his bedroom, not bothering to turn off the lights.

Rythian lies on his bed, clothes still on, and looks at the ceiling. He touches his own face, the places that Lalna traced so gently.

He doled out the most damage, giving Lalna a bloody nose, whacking him in the stomach, but—

he still has the distinct feeling that Lalna won.


End file.
